Journal from 7/18/09
I have overdue library books. I always have overdue library books. It is just a state of being for me. I had spent the morning playing way too much Bejeweled Blitz while trying to whine, beg, and plead for mercy from my cruel finacers! (ok, there might have been a strident tone used here and there, and I really shouldn't have called her a "soulless robot lacking human warmth and understanding, just like her company", though wishing her "as good a weekend as she deserved" didn't bother cause me any remorse). It was hot outside, but my book was in-- a lovely, delicious piece of young-adult froth to spend my Friday night munching on. I might as well go to the library. It was exactly the right choice.
There is some sort of everyday magic about wandering in from a hot, summer afternoon into the cool quiet of a library. No, there was no Ms. Kugler. She was the ageless librarian that wore combs or chopstickes in her hair while drapped in shawls of glittering material that fluttered about her as she ruled her domain of the children's section at the North Branch in Long Beach. These days it is hard to believe such a person wasn't a figment of my imagination, but as a teenager I went to her retirement luncheon, so I'm pretty sure she was real. At this library there was no summer game in progress of the type that I never won. In my mind I can still see the big, etched green/blue dragon mural drawn on butcher paper, posted on the window. Each book we read entitled us to a irridescent green scale to put on the dragon's body. The person with the most scales won, but if we managed to get the body filled by the end of summer all of the participates were invited to an ice-cream party!
These days I no longer go to the North Branch. It isn't what it was. No one could take Ms. Kugler's palce, but I have a feeling I would do a better job than the librian they have now. Too many Anne Geddoes *shudder* art when I was there last. Children might like me, but I consider most of them in the same category as fuzzy demons, and I didn't like how they treated my beloved books when I was one! Ms. Kugler was into the magical, not the cute. She would have been madly in love with Harry Potter, and I bet we would all have been invited to come as our favorite character this weekend. She isn't my favorite, but I would have had to be Luna-- I love her jewelry.
I treasure my golden-ticket like library card to the Long Beach libraries, but I don't go there for books. Now I go over to the very respectable Iacaboni County Library in Lakewood. It doesn't have a card cataloque making it harder for me to find what I want when I'm having trouble spelling things out. The card cataloque allowed me to fake it, and in reality there is always a synonym I can cheat with, so my poor brain never needs to know of its flaws or limitations.Card cataloques were wonderful things when I was less tall. There doesn't appear to be any summer games here, but the inviting soft breeze of cool conditioned air is just the same. And for a moment I'm dizzy with a long time ago. Yes, I drove over to Lakewood instead of walking a half mile in the ninety degree heat to the North Branch, but I still have the memory of what the cool, solid, comforting linoleum felt like on my hot feet, and that the North Branch had the world's coldest water foutain.
But being an adult has some perks. I know I shouldn't, I know it is bad for me, I know it is one of many dreadful habits I seem to have aquired: I know I really shouldn't go to the Iacaboni when the volunteer bookstore is open. I was returning a Robin McKinley book (my patience for adult fiction is almost non-existent these days) and wondered if they would have one of her others that I haven't read. I didn't want it to be in the bookstore! Or the other four books I ended up with including, what looks like, a very charming bit of Manga.
We live in a weird world. I go to pay for my books, and I always-always round up. Considering the economic stew California is in, the libraries can use every penny. But without fail, when I push an extra dollar at the volunteer she looks at me like I'm trying to steal something!
"Oh no! I can't take that. I MUST give you your change?"
"Why? I don't need it. It's only a dollar."
"But..."
"Well, if you feel wrong about it, the next time a small fry is in here not able to afford a book, give it to her."
"Really?"
"Yeah."
This same thing happens over at the counter. As I menitoned, I am the Queen of the Library Fine, so I always round up. Usually it takes a moment for the clerk to realize I'm GIVING the library money, but they always seem happy about it once they glom on to, what I have to guess, is an unbelievable, extremely unthinkable act. But a year or so ago one of them would not take the extra dollar and change. She refused! And started to stammer and stutter about needing to give me a receipt, and that this just wasn't how things were done. Ok. I took my change, and then gave it to the volunteer in the bookshop, who-- as always-- looked like I had turned the water in the drinking fountain into Coca-Cola. Weird universe.
Yes, I have a pile of books I will need to cram onto a shelf. But tonight I will take a nice shower, curl up with the newest Harry Potter Meets the Greek Myths (yeth?). And it just so happens that when I went to deposit my rent checks after the library I had to make a u-turn into the Chipotle parking lot. I shuddered as I cringed away from the Crimson Cockroack, but with bravery continued on to get my gaucamole and chips. A hot afternoon, a pile of books, a coca-cola on bought ice (you can buy Guitar Hero at 7-Eleven-- truly a weird world) and a bean bag! Bliss.
.